


Old Batteries

by RedWild_Rush



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Domestic!Bellarke, F/M, Literally nothing to do with anything, Married Bellamy and Clarke with kids, Modern!Bellarke, i don't know where this came from, pure fluff, worried!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:47:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWild_Rush/pseuds/RedWild_Rush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Bellamy is a worrier and always prepared, even when he doesn't have to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Batteries

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is literally nothing. I had a prompt for my creative writing class and this is what I came up with then and it's been sitting in my word doc for ages now. I was itching to write something so I edited it up.

The night is still and the couple sleeping in bed is cuddled close. His body is aligned perfectly with hers, her form fitting snugly against the length of him. His hand is over her waist and their fingers are interlocked. His breath is blowing blonde wisps of hair against the pillow, but neither stirs at the tickling feel of it. The shrill scream of sound pierces the quiet night.

The feel of Bellamy jumping out of bed violently wakes Clarke before the alarm does. He jackknifes loudly, gasping for air with a tiny whimper. At first, Clarke thinks it's another nightmare, because God only knows how many times he heaves himself awake after a particularly nasty recollection. But the ringing of the fire alarm pierces through the haze of sleep, even as Bellamy grabs her shoulder with urgent but gentle hands.

"Clarke! Wake up! The fire alarm. We have to get out of the house." He's up and grabbing her hands before his words finally stab through her consciousness. She wrenches herself up, panic alighting her body before she listens and relaxes. When she's finally out of bed, he runs out the door of their bedroom, throwing her pink robe at her before moving into the hall. "I'll get the kids, you grab the stuff from the safe." 

Clarke can hear him stomping through the hallways of their home and entering Emma and Phoebe's room. She hears his frantic voice telling their four- year- olds to put their shoes on over the screech of the alarm still going off. Seconds later, he's in the doorway of the master bedroom holding their twins, eyes wide at Clarke's inability to get ready. 

"Babe, come on! The house is on fire." He sets the girls down on the bed before frantically going to the safe in the closet. Both of her daughters’ faces turn to her with wide eyes. Clarke manages a small smile and a reassuring nod before Bellamy comes back into the main bedroom, a long cardboard box in hand. "Clarke, I didn't see any flames upstairs, so the fire must be downstairs. I’m going to climb down the trellis with the girls." He doesn't wait for her to acknowledge before he turns to their children.

She knows the box contain the girls' birth certificates, as well as a hard drive of family photos they update every year. It's not that they were exactly prepared for a house fire, but Bellamy being the mother hen that he is, always makes sure that the family is ready to evacuate at a moments' notice. 

He's talking to the girls now, a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm going to put you on my back, I'll climb down and come get the other and Mommy as soon as I can." They both nod and he hitches Emma up on his back, making sure her hands are tightly clasped around his neck. He's already opened the window, and has one leg out. He makes his way over the roof, keeping careful balance with Emma on his back. 

Phoebe and Clarke watch as father and daughter climb their way down the trellis Bellamy had carefully installed earlier that summer for that particular reason. He runs to the other side of the street and sets her down next to the fire hydrant, the subdivision alight with street lamps. The quiet suburbia they live in is nothing like what Clarke ever pictured for herself, but now she couldn't imagine anything different. 

She watches as her husband kisses their daughter on the forehead before turning back towards their two- story home, determination and fear blazing in his eyes even from across the street. His concern for his family is palpable, and she is swept away by his love. She feels the adoration for this man who would run back into a burning building for the ones he loves coursing through her body and her lips slip up into a small smile as he climbs the trellis. 

He's panting when he reaches their window. "Okay Pheebs, get on Daddy's back."

Their brunette daughter gingerly steps to the window and into Bellamy's waiting arms. Clarke is struck again with adoration of her family as he watches the gentle way Bellamy hoists their child onto his back before turning back towards her. 

"I'll be back for you, Clarke. I promise." He once again doesn't wait for her reply before climbing his way delicately down the roof. 

Clarke knows it's mean. She knows she should've stopped him before he went down with Emma. But at first she was too surprised and confused to really make Bellamy stop. And then the humor started creeping it's way through her mind as he frantically raced about the house. She wasn't afraid for the safety of her children or husband, in the house or climbing down it. Clarke knows he would never jeopardize their children if he thought he couldn't make his way down the trellis.

She steps into her ratty gray slippers and ties the pink robe around her waist. Pink isn't Clarke's favorite color, but when Emma decides that she wants to be a princess and that makes Clarke the queen, and "Mommy, queens always wear pink”, there's not much she can do to prevent every gift from there on out from being a bright shade of fuchsia. 

Clarke makes her way down the stairs at a leisurely pace; knowing Bellamy has at least made it down the house. She steps into their newly remodeled kitchen. Nothing is out of place. The coffee machine light blinks every few seconds, prepared for the next morning of the black coffee only Bellamy will drink before driving to work. The stove is off and spotless, a product of Clarke's surgeon training and her need for everything to be obsessively clean before using it next. Crayon drawings from their little artists' hang on the fridge, along with a reminder from the dentist that it's time for Bellamy's teeth cleaning. 

Clarke reaches into the junk drawer next to the phone and pulls out a screwdriver and batteries. She grabs a barstool from under the granite countertop and drags it directly under the offending fire alarm. As she pops open the cover to the alarm and takes out the battery, the horrid screeching noise stops. The house is quiet once more. Clarke replaces the batteries gently, hearing the telltale beep of reinstallation as she snaps the cover back to its' rightful place. 

Clarke walks to the front door, picking up a pink stuffed elephant that litters the foyer. She opens the front door to see an astonished Bellamy and two curious faces looking at her from across the street. Clarke holds her hands out for her children.

"Come on girls, let's go back to bed." 

The race to her, both grabbing her fingers and letting her interlace them. Bellamy is slower, walking behind them but still looking at the house with a confused expression. Finally, his face clears as understanding dawns. He grimaces at Clarke's single raised eyebrow, ruefully closing his eyes. 

"What was that, Mommy?" Phoebe asks, big brown eyes looking up at her mother's blue ones from under a tangle of curly hair. 

"That was a fire drill, Pheebs. Daddy and I wanted to make sure you knew what to do if there was a real fire in the house." Clarke looks at both girls with serious eyes. "If you ever hear that noise, you have to get out of the house as fast as you can." 

They solemnly, albeit a bit sleepily, nod at their mother as she leads them to their room. Princess Anna and Queen Elsa posters line the walls of the girls' bedroom, a stuffed animal of Olaf and Sven on both the beds. She helps them with their shoes and tucks them in, giving both a kiss on the forehead and an "I love you" before closing the door.

When Clarke reaches her bedroom, Bellamy is sitting above the covers on the bed, waiting for her with an apologetic look on his face. 

"It was just the batteries?" He asks as she hangs her robe back up.

"Yep." She pulls back the comforter for them both to climb into the now- cold sheets. Bellamy reaches for her, spooning her into his body once again and wrapping his arm around her waist. "I'm surprised they lasted this long. I don't think I've replaced them in a while."

She feels his kiss on the back of her neck, shivering at the feel of his lips. "I feel like I should be slightly embarrassed." He murmurs against her skin, his voice ashamed.

Her body shakes the bed as she giggles. "I was going to tell you. But you were on such a mission, I couldn't get a word in edgewise." Clarke interlaces their fingers again. "Besides, I'm glad you know what to do if there's ever a fire. I wouldn't have. The girls should know what to do if that situation ever really happens."

She feels him puff his chest a little as her words soothe his embarrassed pride. "Thanks for not telling them that Daddy is actually just a worry wart."

Clarke smiles as she raises their interlocked hands and presses a small kiss to his palm. "They already know that, Bellamy."

"Oh shut up, Clarke." She can't see the smile, but she can hear it in his voice as he drops his voice lower and nuzzles his nose into her neck. "Love you."

Her eyes are already slipping closed as she settles more firmly against him, relishing in the feel of his strong arms around her. "Love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> This actually happened to me a couple years ago. The batteries in our fire alarm at home went out and the alarm woke me up in the middle of the night. I was still mostly asleep and didn't quite understand that there wasn't a fire. I woke up and carried my 17- year old brother out of his bed and through our window in my pajamas and slippers because I was completely certain that our house was burning down. My parents have never laughed so hard and they still make fun of me for it.


End file.
